


Resuscitation

by Heather_Night



Series: The Pool [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Electrocution, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Mentioned Allison Argent, Mentioned Kate Argent, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Panic Attacks, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five months since Derek and Stiles made their relationship official.  Will Derek's history, and Stiles's recovery, bring the two men closer together or blow them apart?  This concludes the events set in motion during <i>The Pool.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Resuscitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spalso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spalso/gifts).



> A big thank you to Spalso who gave me some great feedback on a different story; it helped me realize how unfair it is to leave a mystery unresolved so I'm posting this story sooner rather than later.
> 
> I think this story will be more enjoyable if you read _The Pool_ first, however, I tried to reference previous events so this story should still make some sense as a stand-alone.

Resuscitation

 

_“Two people making love…are like one drowned person resuscitating the other.”_

\- Anatole Broyard from _Kafka was the Rage_

 

Derek had wrapped his movie shoot yesterday and was spending today running errands, the most important of which he considered meeting Stiles for dinner.

Who would have thought that eight months after Teen Wolf ended, Derek and Stiles would be a couple? Not only were they a couple but also they lived together. Derek considered pinching himself every morning he woke up to find Stiles in his arms.

Who would have thought that five short months after Stiles had been put through hell, he’d be starting a new career? Stiles had been a talented actor but he was an equally talented writer and Jeff Davis had recognized that and hired him on his new show as a part of the writing team. Nobody’s dialogue was as snappy or as funny as what Stiles wrote except for maybe Jeff’s although in Derek’s opinion that was a close thing.

Who would have thought Stiles and his brother-from-another-mother, Scott McCall, would be gesturing and arguing in plain sight outside of the studio at this very moment?

Derek pulled his Toyota FJ Cruiser up to the curb and put it in park. He left it running while he hopped out and jogged over to the two men. “Hey, what’s going on? It’s not like you two to air your differences out in public like this.”

Stiles looked chagrined, a blush climbing over his cheeks. “We just got a bit carried aw—”

“He called me a moron!” Scott yelped, interrupting Stiles. “In front of everyone.” Scott crossed his arms over his chest and even pouted a little. His stare flicked to Derek and then returned to Stiles.

“Scott, man, I did not call you a moron. The director agreed that you should change that word and that’s why he re-shot the scene,” Stiles patiently explained. It was kind of funny when Stiles, formerly the poster child for ADHD, was the patient one.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t understand. Jeff always let you improvise your dialogue on Teen Wolf but now you won’t let me.”

“Scott, bro, you used _irregardless_ in your improvisation. That isn’t a word. Your character is off-the-charts-freaky smart, he wouldn’t use a non-word,” Stiles had lowered his voice and was trying to be nice.

Derek’s head swiveled back and forth between the two men, landing on Scott when the other man squawked, “Are you saying I’m not smart?” He turned, pleading with Derek to agree with him, “See, he’s calling me a moron. You heard that right?”

“Scott, you are one of the smartest people I know. Now give me a hug so you can leave and meet up with your gorgeous wife. Please tell Alli I said hi,” Stiles wrapped Scott in a tight hug.

Scott was slow to raise his arms but he finally reciprocated the hug. “Thanks for stopping by the set. Are you sure you don’t want to join Allison and me for dinner?” he wheedled.

“Thanks, Scotty. Derek and I have plans,” Stiles slapped him on the biceps.

Scott’s face threatened to turn into a frown but when his cell phone bleated an incoming call, his expression turned sunny. “That’s my wife. God, I’ll never get tired of saying that. I’d better take this. See you later,” Scott sung out, talking primarily to Stiles although he managed a sweeping glance toward Derek to include him.

Stiles shook his head, watching Scott jog away, cell phone practically inserted into his ear. “Come on, let’s get out of here before he comes back for round two.”

Derek opened the passenger door for Stiles, brushing a kiss to his cheek as he got settled in the seat before he closed it. He reversed his earlier path, jogging in front of the vehicle, before sliding into the driver’s seat. “What the hell just happened?”

“Ugh,” Stiles responded.

“And you make your living with words,” Derek snorted, lightening the mood.

“Well, Scott invited me to visit him on set and I happened to hear a line he changed, and no, it wasn’t a line I’d written, and he used a non-word. That’s completely out of character so I pointed that out to the director, who just happened to be Jeff, and now Scott thinks we’re ganging up on him,” Stiles finally paused to breathe.

“Was it me or did I get an especially chilly reception?” Derek asked as he checked the lane before merging back into the light traffic.

With a sigh, Stiles answered, “His nose is still out of joint about what went on while he was in France. He didn’t appreciate being kept out of the loop and I guess since he feels he can’t blame the victim, he’s going to blame the victim’s boyfriend.”

Derek knew Stiles didn’t exactly see himself as a victim, or at least he was an untraditional one, so it didn’t bother him to hear Stiles use that term. He also thought Stiles was right—Scott wanted to blame someone so Derek had become the fall guy.

Before Derek could say anything, Stiles continued, “Just so you know, Scott did sound like a dumbass but for the record I didn’t call him one in public.” Stiles definitely had his tongue firmly planted in cheek but he still sounded tired, as though being nice in the face of Scott’s tantrum had expended all of his energy. 

Then again the nightmares plaguing Stiles probably had more to do with his flagging energy levels.

Before Derek could respond, his Bluetooth announced an incoming call: _Pe-ter Hale is calling._

Derek really didn’t want to deal with his uncle at the moment but he’d been ducking his calls for the last six months. “Do you mind if I take this?”

“Peter is your family, of course you should answer if you want to talk to him.” Stiles never judged Derek when it came to his strange attitude toward his only remaining family member.

“Hi, Uncle Peter. How are you?” Derek answered with the hands-free feature.

“Derek. Finally. Are you still coming over this Saturday for lunch? I know you completed your last project so you should be available.” Peter didn’t ask, he demanded.

He didn’t really want to see Peter, he’d rather spend time with Stiles. 

“Why don’t you bring that boy around with you,” Peter announced, into the silence.

“Stiles? You want me to bring Stiles with me?” Derek was flummoxed. He didn’t really think his uncle liked the younger man.

“I proffered the invitation now, didn’t I? Of course Stiles is welcome here,” Peter inveigled.

“Let me check with him, Uncle Peter. If he can make it, we’ll both be there on Saturday,” Derek caved to his uncle’s wishes. Derek wouldn’t make Stiles go but apparently agreeing to ask seemed to be the best option if he wanted to end the call.

Peter clapped his hands together, the speakerphone Peter was using clearly picking it up; the clap was possibly in mock excitement but Derek couldn’t tell. “Excellent. I’ll see you Saturday then. Goodbye, Derek.”

The call was ended without Derek needing to contribute anything further.

Stiles’s cell phone chose that moment to ring. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen. “Unknown caller,” he announced. 

Derek observed as Stiles ignored the call, put his phone away and opened his mouth to say something but then the phone interrupted his boyfriend again. Stiles repeated the same pattern of pulling out his phone, checking the screen and ignoring the call but this time he added a sigh. “Maybe it’s a wrong number.”

Stiles had acquired a new number and only a select few had been given it. Telemarketers were a pain in the ass.

Changing the subject, Stiles asked, “So what time is lunch on Saturday?” He sounded intrigued at the prospect of seeing Peter again. They had met a few years ago briefly and Stiles hadn’t made a big deal out of his uncle’s burns…or his slightly deranged personality.

Derek wanted to turn his head to stare at Stiles, but traffic was too heavy to take his focus from the road. “Are you serious? You want to go?”

“Derek, Peter is your family. I’m your family, too. Is it too much of a stretch to believe that I want to see you around someone who has known you your whole life?” Stiles teased.

“You want to get blackmail material from him, don’t you? I’m on to your fiendish plot,” Derek felt some laughter escape his mouth. It might have been amusement but it was most likely relief.

The plain truth was he didn’t like seeing his uncle because he was a reminder of everything Derek had lost. Having Stiles there mitigated that loss to some degree. 

“Well, duh,” Stiles teased back. “Peter isn’t so bad. I think we can handle him for two hours. It can’t be worse than hearing the English language butchered and I at least know Peter uses proper English. Ridiculously proper at times.”

‘Point.” Derek relaxed back into the driver’s seat.

Relaxation seemed something that was harder to come by lately so he enjoyed the moment.

-0-

Derek’s cell phone rang as he was approaching his vehicle in his apartment’s underground parking garage. It was Stiles, which was odd since Derek was on his way to pick him up from the studio.

“Hey, everything okay?” Derek asked. It wasn’t uncommon for Stiles to change plans if work was running late but he usually did that via text instead of calling.

“Well,” Stiles paused, “I’m fine. Remember that hang up I got on my phone yesterday? I keep getting them and Jeff said I shouldn’t ignore them and he talked me into seeing someone in security about it.” 

Derek could hear the unease in Stiles’s voice. His boyfriend was trying to maintain calm but he was definitely freaked out about something.

“Okay. I think it’s good idea, don’t you?” Derek could feel his heart rate kicking up. They still didn’t know who had paid Garrett and Violet to kidnap Stiles and they didn’t know who had assaulted Stiles. Derek was on board the better-safe-than-sorry train and would feel better if Stiles had someone look into the problem. Someone who could protect him.

“I think it’s a good idea in theory, I’m just not sure I like the security firm Jeff recommended,” Stiles sighed.

“Do you want me to pick you up and we’ll go together?” Derek offered. He would do anything for Stiles. Especially if it kept the younger man safe and gave Derek peace of mind.

Stiles exhaled audibly through the line. “I’m already there. Will you please come pick me up? I want to talk this over with you before I make any decisions.”

“Just tell me where I’m heading. I’m already getting in the car,” Derek soothed. 

“Argent International,” Stiles stated, flatly.

Oh. 

“I should be there in under thirty minutes. Do you want to entertain me while I drive over?” Derek offered. It sounded like Stiles was holding it together but he didn’t want him to spiral into a panic attack.

“No, that’s okay. I want you to concentrate on the traffic. Just come to the top floor, please. I’ll be waiting for you.” Stiles said softly.

“You got it. See you soon. Love you,” Derek said.

“Love you, too,” Stiles replied before disconnecting.

Despite the worry Derek found himself smiling. They were open about their relationship and saying ‘I love you’ had become standard operating procedure.

Being with Stiles was so easy. And wonderful. They meshed, both as roommates and lovers. Although lately the loving had taken a backseat due to Derek’s work schedule and Stiles’s nightmares.

Thinking of nightmares led Derek’s thoughts back to the situation at hand. Namely the Argents. Gerald Argent was known for making sexually inappropriate comments to Allison’s male co-stars, including Stiles, but the Argents had a solid reputation as a security firm. Allison’s father, Chris, looked like a badass but he’d always been cordial to Derek and Stiles. 

Derek thought the main problem was that both Gerard and Chris had bright blue eyes, just like Stiles’s attacker. The eyes were the only thing Stiles seemed to remember from that time, or at least it was the only thing he had divulged. Derek wasn’t so sure there wasn’t more Stiles remembered but he was loath to push the younger man who had finally come out of his depression and shed some of his anxiety.

Worrying over his boyfriend made the ride pass by quickly and it didn’t take Derek long to find parking as everyone else in the block seemed to be leaving for the day. He entered the towering glass and steel building and selected the top floor when he entered the elevator.

The car moved briskly and Derek took a moment to throw off the dizziness from the rapid ascent. The doors barely had a chance to open before Stiles was tugging Derek out . “They want me to sign a contract but I’m not ready yet. I want to talk to you first,” Stiles implored as he wound his arm around Derek’s back.

Derek tugged the younger man closer to his side as they strode down the hallway, long legs in sync. Stiles guided them into a conference room where Gerard sat at the table, Chris standing behind him, looking out the window.

Gerard rose, extending his hand and Derek reached across the table to shake it. “Thank you for joining us, son,” Gerard greeted.

Blech. Derek did not want to be called son by Gerard but he supposed it could’ve been worse; Gerard could’ve called him _Dear Derek_ as he’d done on a previous occasion.

Derek restricted his answer to a nod of the head, withdrawing his hand before things could get awkward. 

Chris Argent’s greeting was a bit more low key. He forced a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Taking his cue from Stiles, who remained standing, Derek put his hands on the back of a chair. “So what have I missed?” Derek asked.

“Stiles is reluctant to take us up on our offer,” Gerard explained. “Until we’re assured whoever is harassing him has been dealt with in the appropriate manner, we’re suggesting Stiles has a bodyguard.”

Stiles began to lean heavily into Derek’s side. Derek’s arm curled possessively around the younger man’s waist, offering silent support. 

“Would it be okay if we talked this over tonight and got back to you tomorrow?” Derek proposed. That had been Stiles’s wish when he greeted Derek at the elevator. Normally Stiles would’ve voiced his decision but Derek could tell Stiles was spooked and wanted out of there.

Gerard sucked in a breath, preparing to launch into some salesmanship pitch, but Chris beat him to the punch. “I know this is a lot to take in so yes, I think it’s a good idea you two discuss it. And if you don’t feel comfortable using our services, I can recommend some other very reputable companies.”

The white haired man turned and glared at his son before he pressed his mouth into a tight line. Apparently Chris had gone off script and his father wasn’t pleased with him.

Chris continued, unfazed, “Stiles, your safety is the most important thing right now so do what you have to do, no hard feelings.” This time he smiled naturally, looking at both Stiles and Derek.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Thank you for taking your time to meet with me. I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow.” His delivery was stilted and very un-Stiles like. The younger man was also visibly burrowing into Derek’s side, his forehead pressed into the crook of Derek’s neck, refusing eye contact with anyone.

Gerard recovered his aplomb, smiling graciously. “Of course you must discuss this. We’ll wait to hear from you.”

Before the older man could round the table, Derek hustled Stiles out of the conference room. Derek could feel fine tremors rippling through Stiles’s body from where his arm still rested on the trim waist. Something was stressing his boyfriend and Derek needed to identify the problem so he could fix it. Derek knew that Stiles didn’t want him to fix every little problem for him, but standing by and watching him in distress was beyond Derek’s capabilities. He had to do something.

They made into the elevator and as soon as the doors slide shut, Stiles threw himself into Derek’s arms, hugging him tightly. Derek squeezed back until he though he heard Stiles’s ribs protesting the pressure. 

“What’s going on?” Derek asked, nuzzling his face against Stiles’s.

“Ugh. I can’t stare at their faces without feeling like I’m on the verge of a panic attack. Gerald assured me he and Chris would both personally see to my safety but how I can rely on them when I can barely stand to be in the same room with them?” Stiles quietly relayed his concerns. “I need to get over this phobia.”

Phobias were never fun but Stiles’s was more of a defense mechanism and Derek would never tell him to ignore those feelings. He knew eventually things would get better. 

The elevator dinged, spilling them out on the first floor. Derek kept an arm around Stiles’s waist, guiding him to his Cruiser. After helping the younger man into the vehicle, Derek climbed behind the steering wheel.

By tacit agreement both men turned toward each other and began discussing the situation.

Derek led with, “Tell me about the hang-ups.”

Stiles took a deep breath. “Jeff was letting me sit in on a head writer’s meeting and my cell phone kept going off. That’s really rude so I silenced it but Jeff grabbed my phone after the meeting and wanted to know who was calling me from an unknown number,” Stiles recounted. His arms had crept around his middle and he was hugging himself. Derek wanted to pull him into his arms and comfort him but right now it was more important he hear the whole story. He nodded, encouragingly, prompting Stiles to continue.

Stiles pushed the hair on his forehead back with one hand before returning to his self-hug. “I knew by this point it wasn’t just a wrong number and Jeff said he’d feel better if I talked to someone, seeing as Parrish and Clark haven’t found the perp. He suggested Argent International and it seemed pathetic to turn them down just on the basis of their eye color.”

His boyfriend was pale and drawn. Derek had to admit having a bodyguard assigned to Stiles, even in the short term, would assuage some of his fears but it was Stiles’s decision. “I’m not discounting the importance of going against your gut when it comes to blue eyes, but setting that aside for a moment, do you have any doubts about the Argents?” Derek was attempting to look at this logically. 

“Quite frankly I find Gerard to be creepy but I’d trust Chris with my life,” Stiles didn’t even have to think that over before replying.

Derek suggested, “What if we asked Chris to wear sunglasses so you couldn’t see his eyes well?” It was his version of creative problem solving although he wasn’t sure Stiles, or Chris, would find it an acceptable idea.

“That’s perfect!” Stiles grinned, tension sloughing off of him before Derek’s very eyes. “He gave me his card. Do you mind if I call him?”

“I’m sure he’s still in his office and would like to hear from you,” Derek reassured Stiles. Derek had gotten the sense Chris cared for Stiles’s wellbeing and that took precedence over making a buck.

Stiles pulled his phone out and dug a business card out of another pocket. He punched in the number and started to chew absently on his thumbnail. 

In the months since Stiles had begun regularly exercising with Malia and Kira, some of his nervous tells had diminished so seeing the nail chewing again was concerning. Derek knew Chris took his business seriously and he hoped the older man wouldn’t be offended by the request to keep his eyes screened from Stiles’s view.

“Yeah, Chris, it’s Stiles. Do you have a minute?” Stiles blurted out.

Derek wished he’d asked Stiles to put the call on speakerphone so he could hear the other man’s responses. 

“I was wondering, and I know this may seem silly but…oh…that’s exactly what I was going to ask you! Derek suggested it and I thought it would work.”

“Uh huh. Are you sure you don’t mind? I know it’s weird.”

“Yeah, that’s great. Can I work exclusively with you?”

“Sure, sure. Derek was going to take me to the studio tomorrow morning—do you want to meet me there or somewhere else?”

“Uh huh. That sounds great. Thanks, Chris. I really appreciate it. See you tomorrow.”

The grin had morphed to a blinding smile. “He’s in! Chris said he had the same idea once we left and he was going to call me tomorrow. He doesn’t mind wearing shades, he said it’ll make him feel like he’s a Feebie.”

“I didn’t think Chris would mind, I’m sure that’s not the craziest request he’s ever had,” Derek returned Stiles’s smile. 

“He’s going to swing by the apartment tomorrow morning. I hope that’s okay with you?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

“Stiles, the apartment is your home too you know. You can invite anyone you want over, whenever you want. Got it?” Derek asked. This conversation kept cropping up but Derek was content to have it over and over as long as he had Stiles living with him.

“Got it. Thanks,” Stiles stared shyly at him. 

Stiles’s stomach gurgled loudly, interrupting the moment.

Derek threw back his head and laughed. “What do you say to throwing some pizza together when we get home?”

Reaching over, Stiles’s hand cupped Derek through his jeans. “Pizza followed by a scene?” He suggested.

Saliva pooled in Derek’s mouth and he swallowed it down. “I like the way you think. Now let’s get home,” Derek enthusiastically responded.

-0-

Derek moved fast, one arm curling around Stiles’s slim waist, pulling him backward. He sank down on the leather couch, yanking Stiles over his thighs.

They had just started another scene in his basement and Derek was excited to try something new.

Stiles was beautiful like this, his curved, pale ass cheeks pointing toward the ceiling, ready to receive Derek’s attention. 

Bringing his hand down with a smack, Derek enjoyed the bright red marks against the pastel skin. 

The man in his lap twisted, crying out.

“Color?” Derek requested.

“Green,” Stiles sobbed out. If the cock digging into Derek’s thigh wasn’t so hard, he’d be worried he had hurt the younger man.

Rubbing lightly, soaking up the warmth of the skin, Derek pulled back and made contact again. _Smack! Smack!_

Stiles’s sobs took on a different quality, breathy and soft, as he rutted between Derek’s thighs.

There was no doubt; Stiles enjoyed receiving an erotic spanking as much as Derek enjoyed doling one out.

Peppering the backs of Stiles’s thighs with whacks, Derek moved upward until his hand was crashing down on the lush buttocks. Unlike some slim men, Stiles had a full derriere and it begged to be cupped and massaged. Or spanked.

Once the tension had eased from Stiles’s body, Derek eased him over until he was on his back. 

Stiles’s loud intake of breath when his ass made contact with Derek’s hard thighs made Derek grin. Curling an arm around Stiles’s broad shoulders, Derek levered him up until Stiles was cradled against his chest.

Holding Stiles’s face, Derek pressed his mouth to those full, pink lips. Tongues dueled together, sloppily, Stiles moaning at the contact. 

Stiles’s front was laid out like a blank canvas. Derek groaned at thoughts of what all he could do to him.

First on the agenda was worshipping the two tight buds of flesh on Stiles’s chest. Derek leaned over and licked one playfully, enjoying the way Stiles jumped when his tongue made contact. Licking turned to sucking and Derek couldn’t leave the other nipple alone as he laved attention to the other, pinching and twisting it ruthlessly between his fingers.

The left nipple proved especially sensitive, seemingly wired directly to Stiles’s cock; each time Derek sucked, chewed or pinched it, the slender, long uncut cock jerked, precum oozing.

The muscles in Stiles’s thighs trembled and he rocked his hips upwards as Derek pressed a light kiss on his belly, just below the navel. The position was an awkward one for Derek but he couldn’t get enough of Stiles’s body.

Stiles’s hand clutched at the back of Derek’s head, his fingers twitching convulsively in the strands. The sobbing noises were back and they were beautiful.

Derek checked Stiles’s face, satisfied by the desire burning beneath his half lidded eyes. Leaning forward, Derek reapplied his mouth to Stiles’s nipples, one at a time, feasting on the reddened buds.

The body in his arms, taut with sexual tension, continued to quiver. Derek wrapped a hand around Stiles’s cock, luxuriating in the silky skin stretched over hard steel. Stile’s cock was graceful and Derek thought about moving Stiles so he could blow him, show him his proper admiration.

“Derek…please,” Stiles panted as he arched backward, encouraging Derek to continue his feast. 

Something smacked Derek on the side of the head and he looked down to find a condom on the leather couch next to him.

Stiles had been given the all clear when it came to his STI and HIV status; the sexual assault had left many scars but illness wasn’t one of them. Derek had thought they were ready for unprotected sex but apparently that wasn’t the case.

His own cock flagged at the concern he felt, at least until Stiles arched his back again, reaching down and putting his hands over Derek’s fist, squeezing tightly. “Harder, Der. Please,” be begged.

That was enough stimulation for Derek’s body. He shifted Stiles to the side so he could glove up and then coated the condom liberally with the lube sitting on the side table. 

It was rushed but Derek managed to loosen Stiles up with his fingers. He made a mental note to have a toy at the ready next time to assist but when his boyfriend moaned loudly as Derek’s finger found the bundle of nerves inside of him, the thought became fleeting. 

Derek used his upper body strength to lift Stiles up and deposit him back on his lap. With another surge of energy, Derek hefted Stiles up and eased him downward, lining up his cock with the star-budded hole, letting gravity pull Stiles downward until Derek’s balls nestled against the curve of Stiles’s buttocks.

Both men groaned in tandem once Derek was fully seated.

“I’m gonna,” Stiles paused, swallowing convulsively, before panting, “blow. Don’t want to yet. Please help me,” Stiles pleaded as he wriggled uncontrollably.

Derek braced his hand against Stiles’s chest, tugging him back more securely. He let his hand stroke down Stiles’s body, avoiding the stiff shaft between Stiles’s legs, instead reaching past it to first knead the testicles before squeezing them more tightly. Once he had adequate pressure, he wrapped his other hand back around Stiles’s cock.

Over Stiles’s shoulder Derek admired the straining organ, fast turning from pink to red in his hand. Derek swore he could feel the big vein running beneath it turning bright purple, the vein pulsing in time to Stiles’s heartbeat.

Derek switched his focus to his other hand, gathering up Stiles’s balls; he knew from previous experience they were equally gorgeous. Smooth and tight and—

Both men groaned as Derek’s hand tightened, pulling the ballsack until the nuts pushed against the skin. Stiles shifted restlessly on Derek’s lap, mewls of pleasure escaping his lips.

Derek applied even more pressure with both hands, relishing the way Stiles adjusted his weight on his lap. He wouldn’t go so far as to say Stiles was a pain slut but he definitely seemed to have no problem with mixing a little pain with his pleasure.

His own body began to move rhythmically, pumping up and down. Derek let his hands move on autopilot as he tuned in to what his own body needed to bring it to completion.

Soon both men were panting and coated with sweat. When Derek’s arousal pooled in his lower abdomen and fanned outward, he removed the hand restraining Stiles’s balls. Derek turned the strident tugging on Stiles’s cock to sensual squeezing.

Both men heaved at the same time, Derek spilling into his condom and Stiles coating his abdomen.

“Oh my God,” Stiles moaned. “Best. Sex Ever.”

Derek planted a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. “You say that every time.”

“Maybe because every time, it gets better,” Stiles sighed out happily as he nuzzled his cheek against Derek’s shoulder.

They took time to come down from their sex endorphin high. When Stiles began to wriggle, and not in a sexual way, Derek realized their post coital cuddle was over.

Stiles pushed to his feet and held a hand out to pull Derek up. Both men cringed as Derek’s skin unpeeled from the leather couch with a squelch. Derek shepherded Stiles toward the bathroom were they could both freshen up with a damp cloth.

“Hey, Stiles? You’re feeling okay, right?” Derek asked. 

He realized he had phrased his question too ambiguously when Stiles smirked. “More than okay,” he teased. “The best.”

Derek cleared his throat. “I mean, your tests all came back negative, right?”

Stiles’s shoulders dropped but he still answered, “Yeah, they’re negative. I just…” Stiles trailed off.

Patience was called for here and Derek waited his boyfriend out. Stiles obliged him by continuing, “I couldn’t live with myself if I made you sick. I just want to be 100%, absolutely certain before we go bare back.” Stiles turned until he was facing Derek, his forehead bunched up in worry. “That’s okay, right? I mean I’m going to take another test next week and that’ll be eight months. I figure that’s more than enough time,” Stiles brown eyes stared into Derek’s, his hands twisting nervously.

“Stiles, if you didn’t want to have sex at all, it would be fine with me. I have to say I’m beyond happy that you’re not sick. You looking out for me like this…it just makes me love you all the more,” Derek gushed.

“Well just so there’s no misunderstanding, the fact that we’re sexually compatible means there will be more sex if I have any say in it,” Stiles joked but his eyes were brimming with moisture.

Derek drew Stiles against his chest, hugging him tightly.

It had been a somewhat stressful day but things were beginning to look up.

-0-

The buzzer sounded at 8 a.m. sharp. Chris was definitely punctual.

Stiles, however, wasn’t. He was still in the bedroom, talking to Jeff. He’d asked if he could come in to work a little late and was now having to explain the recent developments with Argent International.

Jeff was the most supportive boss ever so Derek didn’t begrudge him this conversation while he buzzed Chris up to the apartment.

Derek checked the peephole and once he identified it was Chris standing at his door, he invited the man inside.

“Thanks for coming over, Chris. Stiles will be right out,” Derek led Chris to the dining room table. He figured there would be paper work to complete and when Chris set his briefcase on the surface and pulled out some documents, Derek knew he’d made the right choice.

“Would you like some coffee, Chris?” Derek asked as he moved to the kitchen. He definitely needed a jolt of caffeine to get moving this morning.

“Yes, please,” the man said and Derek jumped when he realized Chris was following him. He definitely had some ninja skills.

“Cream or sugar?” Derek queried.

“Just black please,” Chris answered, his bright blue eyes peering around.

“Did you bring some shades?” Derek asked as he retrieved two mugs and poured out the magic elixir. 

“Shit. Yeah. Chris delved into his pocket and withdrew a pair of Ray Ban Aviator silver mirrored sunglasses. “Thanks for the reminder. I definitely need the coffee.”

The two men lounged against the counter, quietly inhaling and sipping from their mugs by turns. 

Chris cleared his throat. “So Derek, I’m going to be around a lot and I was wondering if that was going to be awkward for you.”

It took Derek a moment to follow the man’s line of reasoning and then it hit him; Chris was talking about his sister Kate who Derek had dated in his teens.

“Is what going to be awkward?” Stiles asked warily as he stepped into the kitchen.

Derek held out his hand and when Stiles approached him, he tugged the younger man into his side and handed him the mug so Stiles could have his first sip of coffee.

“I think Chris is referring to his sister, Kate. I dated her for a while when I was much younger.” Derek had nothing to hide from his boyfriend. For some reason the fact that he’d dated an Argent had never come up. Allison and Derek had discussed it once but Stiles must not have been around for it.

Chris nodded his head but Derek found it disconcerting that he couldn’t read the other man’s eyes. It was something he would have to get used to if Chris was going to be acting as Stiles’s bodyguard.

Stiles burrowed into Derek’s side, still clutching the mug in both hands. “Huh. You and Alli’s aunt. What’s she up to now?” Stiles asked, his curiosity having been caught now.

Chris gulped the rest of his coffee down and Derek cringed; it was still piping hot and it had to burn. “I’m afraid Kate suffers from schizophrenia and she’s at a treatment facility right now. They’re trying to get her meds adjusted.”

Taking the news in stride, Stiles handed the mug back to Derek. The younger man frowned before responding. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must really be hard on everyone in your family.”

“I think it’s hardest on my father,” Chris surprised Derek by sharing. It looked like Chris surprised himself, too, by the way his eyebrows rose higher. Stiles had a knack for endearing people to him and getting them to share little known facts. It appeared he was already working his mojo on Chris.

Setting down the mug on the counter with more care than was strictly needed, Chris finally turned his attention back to them. “Let’s run through the paper work so we can get you to work, Stiles.” Sharing time was over.

The three men trooped back into the dining room where Chris handed a packet to Stiles. “This is our standard contract. It states we’ll keep everything we witness or find out completely confidential unless someone breaks the law and we have to report it. In addition I’ve taken the liberty of naming myself as your primary bodyguard. The only time I won’t be with you is when you’re with Derek unless you request it. I’ll pick you up and escort you to your job, or on errands or to kickboxing class.”

Stiles snorted. “So you heard about that. Kira drags me to kickboxing and Malia tugs me through the canyons on hikes with her fur-faces.”

Chris’s face unbent from its usual serious mien into a smile. “Yeah, Allison is jealous I think. She’s really going to be jealous once she finds out you let me tag along.”

Any qualms Derek had about Chris meshing with Stiles evaporated. The older man seemed sensitive to Stiles’s needs and he wasn’t acting demanding and all alpha male, which Derek admitted to himself, wouldn’t have sat well.

Derek did want to know if Argent International was going to provide more than bodyguard services. “So will your firm be investigating if someone is threatening Stiles with those phone calls?” Stiles flinched but Derek figured they needed to know.

“Of course. I’ve outlined our rates on page five. Jeff is picking up the tab for the investigation and he said he’d split the cost of my protection services with you. Even though he’s helping foot the bill, we’ll only report our findings to you as you’re our client. If you want Jeff to know something, we’ll leave it to you to fill him in,” Chris explained.

The tension in Stiles’s body deflated. “That sounds more than fair. Do you need anything from us?”

“I need you to both level with me. If you want some alone time, let’s talk about it. I don’t want you ducking me at the cost of your safety. And if anything makes you feel uncomfortable—someone you meet, something you remember, me—I would appreciate it if you told me. Your intuition is something you should learn to trust. Sometimes that little something that niggles at you shouldn’t be ignored and in fact could save your life,” Chris clarified.

Stiles smiled and it reached his eyes; Derek got those smiles but it seemed few and far between with other people. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Or I should say I do. One thing though…I will never sing _I Will Always Love You._ Not gonna happen. Just saying.”

Chris barked out a laugh. “Oh, Stiles. I think you’re going to keep me on my toes, which I’m looking forward to. Now why don’t you two look over that paper work, ask me any questions you have and then maybe you’ll sign it so we can get a move on.”

“One more question, Chris. We were going to go to my uncle’s house on Saturday for a visit. Is that something you want to be on hand for or how does that work?” Derek was halfway hoping Chris would suggest they cancel the plans.

Chris adjusted the Aviators on the bridge of his nose. “If you want me to drive you and then wait while you visit, I can do that. However, if you’re going to stay together then I don’t necessarily feel I need to be there. I guess it really depends on how comfortable Stiles is feeling and if we think the threat has worsened.” 

“Nice try, Derek,” Stiles teased as he paged through the documents in his hands.

It had been a nice try but now Derek was resigned to paying his uncle a visit. At least he’d have Stiles there with him.

-0-

As they stood on the terra cotta brickwork in front of his uncle’s Spanish Colonial Revival styled home, Derek hesitated to ring the doorbell. Derek admired the smooth stucco walls with semi-circular arcades arching over each room entrance but the exterior, with its decorative iron trim around the windows and elaborate main entrance, seemed to give off a vibe of foreboding.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and gave it a squeeze. It was a silent show of support and just the thing Derek needed to gather his courage to announce their presence. Before Derek could ring the doorbell, Peter swung the ornate door open.

Throwing his arms wide, Peter welcomed them with a broad smile. “Welcome, Derek. Stiles. Please, come inside.” Peter kept his body angled so only the left side of his face was visible. The right side, scarred from the fire, remained in the shadows.

His boyfriend murmured a greeting, thanking his uncle for inviting him. Stiles had never been unduly bothered by Peter’s appearance; the one time Derek had asked him about it, Stiles had said he was sorry their family had been through so much but it was obvious both uncle and nephew were survivors and that’s what counted.

Derek clasped Stiles’s hand loosely in his while he peered around, wondering where Jennifer, his uncle’s nurse, was hiding. Usually she ushered him in, giving him an idea of Peter’s mood. This time it was apparent—his uncle was in one of his manic phases. This could be exhausting, however, it was easier for Derek than when depression overtook the older man. Derek himself was prone to bouts of melancholy and being around someone else suffering from despondency could be difficult for him. Especially when there was the added sentiment of guilt on Derek’s part coloring their interactions.

“I thought we could dine al fresco since the weather is so lovely. I’ve made a Panko-Crusted Mustard Salmon with Roasted Potatoes and Waldorf-Style Salad. Derek, I know you’re watching your boyish figure so I’ve substituted Greek yogurt and lemon for the mayonnaise in the dressing.” The menu was delivered in a good natured tone but Derek couldn’t help but feel the ‘boyish figure’ comment was a subtle dig at Derek’s weight; as a boy he’d been chubby and Peter never missed an opportunity to remind him of that awkward time.

“Thank you, Peter. You are thoughtful as always,” Derek responded. He refused to engage in verbal warfare, especially in front of Stiles.

Stiles seemed to have missed the entire exchange, he was so busy taking in the paintings lining the walkway to the pool. The cream walls were decorated with splashes of color in the Fauvism style and although Derek never doubted the artistic integrity of the pieces, they evoked in him feelings of claustrophobia and anxiety.

“You boys make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with the appetizer,” Peter invited before he darted away.

“Wow, I know you mentioned Peter had moved but I hadn’t really pictured him in a place so…grand,” Stiles gestured to the beautiful tile design surrounding the Olympic sized swimming pool. “It just seems a bit much for one person.”

No one could every accuse Stiles of being a gold-digger. He liked nice things and certainly hadn’t grown up a pauper but this kind of decadence made him crinkle up his nose adorably. Even though Derek came from money, he had never been comfortable with it, not like his uncle.

Classical music wafted over from somewhere next to the pool and Stiles went to investigate. “His music system is a little outdated though. Doesn’t he realize electronics plugged in next to a source of water is dangerous? He should upgrade to wireless,” Stiles suggested.

“I’ll keep that in mind for his birthday. I will say the move must be agreeing with him. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time,” Derek responded.

Peter stepped back into the sunshine bearing a tray laden with food and drink. Stiles jumped to his feet to assist him, garnering a murmured, “Thank you.”

The men settled down and sampled the salad and wine. Stiles moaned with happiness after his first bite of Waldorf salad washed down by the white wine. “Peter, this is absolute heaven. What kind of wine is it? I can’t believe how well it compliments the salad,” Stiles enthused. He might not look like it, but Stiles liked to eat. And drink.

“The wine is a François Cazin Cour-Cheverny Cuvée Renaissance. What exactly do you taste?” Peter leaned over, absolutely fascinated with Stiles as the younger man sniffed, swished and tasted the pale wine again. 

“I like the acidity but I also taste…melon? Tart but also sweet. It’s perfect with the apple in the salad,” Stiles extolled and then blushed. “I mean, I think so at least. I don’t really know much about these things.”

“My dear boy, you’ve shown remarkable taste,” Peter threw a side-eye at Derek, “at least in most things.”

Derek ignored Peter’s antics but Stiles had become quiet. Derek only nibbled at the meal. Stiles rearranged the food on his plate for a while but then he began to consume it with glee and Peter hung on Stiles’s every hum, sigh and smile.

Peter excused himself to get the salmon and potatoes. “I think he’s smitten with you,” Derek commented, nudging Stiles under the marble table. Although Derek was happy to see his uncle so engaged and content, it was unsettling to see his attentions set on his boyfriend.

Stiles scowled. “He really went to a lot of trouble with this lunch. And it’s really good. Do I need to tone it down?” the younger man shifted gears, asking tentatively.

His boyfriend had gained back his confidence and most of his independence but sometimes he reverted to the timid, young man who had appeared in the wake of his assault. 

Derek leaned over and caught Stiles’s hand that was fidgeting nervously in his lap. He gave it a solid squeeze. “You’re perfect just the way you are, Stiles. Just enjoy yourself.”

Peter returned, doling out the plates artfully arranged with grilled salmon and roasted potato wedges. Stiles was a bit more subdued as they dined on this course and Derek tried to take up the slack. “So where is Jennifer today? Did you give her the day off?”

“Oh, that woman. She was getting underfoot so I sent her out for some supplies,” Peter groused.

“Supplies?” Derek queried.

“I’ve been taking some cooking classes with a private tutor and we’re going to work on crème brûlée. I needed a butane torch,” his uncle announced.

Derek set his fork down with a clatter, queasiness overcoming him. “You’re able to work with a flame?”

“Yes. It’s immersion therapy. My psychiatrist suggested it might be helpful in overcoming some of my,” Peter paused, waving a hand at the right side of his face where the scarring was the heaviest, “issues.”

“Is it working?” Stiles quietly interrupted. 

“I’ll have to get back to you on that. Why, have you contemplated immersion therapy for yourself?” Peter fired back aggressively.

“Yes, I have,” Stiles admitted, eyes downcast.

Peter, surprisingly, backed down. “I can recommend my psychiatrist should you decide you’re ready. I have his card I can give to you,” he offered. This was the kindest Peter had been, at least around Derek, since before the fire. Maybe the move, and the therapy, were working.

The silence yawned, just becoming uncomfortable when Stiles asked, “Is this Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Opus 18?”

Peter’s lips parted surprise, the damage skin on the right side of his face prevented a complete smile from overtaking it. “You like classical music?”

Stiles shrugged. “I like some although I’m not very familiar with it.”

“Then how did you recognize this piece?” Peter inquired, resting his chin on his steepled hands. 

“My mom liked Eric Carmen. I read that he based the verse of his song, _All By Myself_ , on the second movement,” Stiles explained, fidgeting.

“You are a most fascinating young man, Stiles,” Peter responded.

Stiles’s eyes were downcast so he couldn’t see the way Peter stared at him but Derek could and it made him uncomfortable. “Did you say something about dessert?” Derek prodded his uncle.

“Yes, of course. Can I interest you in some homemade raspberry sorbet ?” Peter allowed Derek to change the subject.

Derek would’ve liked to hustles Stiles out of there but he discovered he didn’t want to rebuff his uncle’s efforts. “That sounds amazing. Do you need some help?” 

“No, but I do think we should return inside. Stiles is turning a delightful shade of pink but it wouldn’t do for him to get burned,” Peter gestured at the younger man, “by the sun that is.”

Stiles’s creamy skin had acquired a pretty glow but it wouldn’t be much longer until he was more lobster colored. “Good idea. We’ll help you clear the table.”

The three men gathered up the dishes, cutlery and glasses before heading inside to the tiled coolness. 

They were in the kitchen when Stiles cleared his throat. “May I use your bathroom please?”

“Yes, of course. It’s the first doorway on the right,” Peter explained. “We’ll be down the hallway in the lounge.”

Derek helped load the dishwasher and assemble the crystal sorbet bowls before carrying the loaded vessels into the lounge. Derek stared at the brightly colored confection in the bowls and then at the cream colored furnishings; he hoped neither one of them made a mess otherwise Peter would throw a fit.

“I heard we might actually have a storm later today,” Derek had to resort to chatting about the weather to fill the sudden silence.

“Oh, I do love a good storm. Let’s check the forecast,” he said, turning on the big screen TV. Before he could change the channel, the man on the screen asked, ““Is that $3,000 bounty on the shark in cash or check?”

Peter turned the already loud volume up a notch. “Oh, look Derek, it’s—”

“Jaws!” Stiles announced, skidding into the room. “Hooper!”

“You like this movie?” Peter asked, his eyes twinkling. Derek hated the movie, although not for the reason Peter might think; Derek’s dad had loved _Jaws,_ insisted the whole family watch it together every year, and the thought his dad was no longer alive to enjoy it made him sad. 

Stiles grinned. “I love it. I think the introduction to Quint’s character, those fingernails on the chalkboard, is the best I’ve ever seen. Robert Shaw kills in that role.”

“Would you like to watch it with me?” Peter only had eyes for Stiles.

“Yes. Yes, I would. That is if it’s okay with Derek,” Stiles tacked on belatedly, shooting a concerned look at Derek. 

Derek appreciated the thought but there was no way they were going to make a quick getaway now that his uncle had someone else to exchange comments with over the viewing of one of his favorite movies. 

Picking up the sorbet, Derek sank into the uncomfortable couch and spooned a mouthful. It was too damned bad if he dripped on the furniture.

He sensed someone’s attention on him and turned to find Peter staring at him, unblinking and unsmiling. Derek thought uncharitably that Peter somewhat resembled the Great White Shark on the screen.

Stiles snuggled deeply against him, attention rooted on the action playing out before him on the TV. Derek resolved to ignore his uncle’s looks. Sitting there with his uncle wasn’t such a hardship with Stiles by his side.

-0-

The ride home from Peter’s was completed in silence, the only noise the occasional yawn from Stiles.

When Stiles’s jaw cracked from a particularly strong yawn, Derek couldn’t hold back anymore. “The nightmares are getting worse, aren’t they?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek could see Stiles first rubbing the jaw he’d just accidentally cracked before rubbing the heels of both palms into his eyes. “Yeah, instead of getting them once or twice a week I seem to be having them nightly and that was before this whole business with the mystery phone calls.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Derek questioned. His inability to do anything additional to help his boyfriend made him feel extremely ineffectual but from the reading he had done on the subject of trauma, this wasn’t about how he felt. Not that he was supposed to ignore his emotions, he just needed to make sure he didn’t focus solely on his needs. It was a fine line he needed to walk but he’d been on this tightrope since the kidnapping and so far they were making it work.

Derek held his right hand out and waited to see if Stiles would take it. When his boyfriend clutched at it, Derek was relieved. It was always touch and go when it came to how much comforting Stiles would allow.

Stiles gave his hand a tight squeeze. “I don’t think I say it enough, but thank you. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for being supportive. I know you think therapy would be helpful and I get where you’re coming from, I’m just not quite ready for it. Yet. Not after the whole fiasco with what’s-her-face.”

What’s-her-face would be Dr. Morrell. It didn’t help that Stiles had felt pressured by his father to watch the video shot during his captivity and assault. The two Stilinski men were both stubborn and getting them both to move past it was proving to be hard work. In the mean time, Derek felt like he was in the middle as the sheriff sought information on how Stiles was doing but then alternately seemed to dislike Derek, seeming to blame Derek for the chasm between the father and son.

Derek didn’t mind helping where he could but his priority was definitely Stiles. “I hope you know I’m not going to push you to see someone. It’s just hard watching someone you love in distress,” Derek explained. When Stiles opened his mouth, probably to argue, Derek silenced him by quickly continuing, “I know from my own experience after the fire that healing can’t be rushed. It took me years, really until I met you, before I could begin to move past it. I just wanted you to know that I have your back, whatever you need.” Derek had said his piece so he shut up.

While idling at a traffic light, Derek glanced over at Stiles to find his boyfriend staring at him, open mouthed, tears leaking from his eyes. “Stiles, baby, what’s wrong?” Derek asked in concern.

With the back of his right hand, Stiles dashed the moisture from his cheeks. “That’s the first time you’ve talked to me about what you went through with the fire. Thank you for sharing that with me.” Stiles sniffed loudly before grimacing. “Did you just call me baby?”

Derek’s face heated up and it felt like the tips of his ears would combust with embarrassment. “I, um, yeah. I did.”

“Have I ever told you how adorable you are, Mr. Hale? I think I feel the need to give you a blow job when we get home,” Stiles announced.

Stiles’s moratorium on sex would be over as soon as he received his latest test results; technically twelve weeks after exposure with a clean result was considered HIV negative but Stiles had insisted on waiting eight months. Derek was content to wait until Stiles was ready; his boyfriend hadn’t been given the option to consent to sex when he was drugged and kidnapped so it was important to him that Stiles have the final say when it came to his body.

“Did I leave you speechless?” Stiles demanded, breaking into Derek’s thoughts.

“Always, Stiles. Always.” Derek gave Stiles’s hand one final squeeze before he put both hands back on the steering wheel at the correct positions.

The thought of Stiles’s lips wrapped around his cock, sucking, while those big, brown eyes stared up at him was causing Derek some concentration issues.

The ride home seemed interminable now.

-0-

Derek was in the kitchen, making a salad, when he heard the front door open.

A deep voice called out, “Derek, you home?”

It was Chris Argent. Derek could easily identify the man’s voice now sight unseen. Right now he was picking up something in the man’s voice—unease?—that caused Derek to put the knife down with a clatter as he dried his hands on a towel and headed toward the front door.

“I’m right here. What’s going on?” Derek demanded as he burst into the living room.

Chris was guiding a very pale, very quiet Stiles toward the couch. When Chris backed Stiles into the leather seat, the younger man dropped into a seated position gracelessly.

“We ran into someone, a creepy fuck by the name of Duke,” Chris reported as he brushed by Derek and went into the kitchen. Derek could hear the other man rummaging around but his sole focus was on Stiles.

“Hey, what can I get you?” Derek asked as he kneeled down in front of his boyfriend. He knew better than to ask if Stiles was okay; this was definitely not okay. 

Derek put his hand on Stiles’s knee and waited. It took a moment but Stiles finally shook himself, making eye contact with Derek. Without warning Derek’s arms were filled with the slim young man. Derek couldn’t brace his weigh and ended up falling back on to his ass, cradling Stiles to his chest.

“Here,” a bottled water was shoved into Derek’s hand. “He’s a little shocky so we need to keep him warm and hydrated.”

Setting Stiles back a bit, Derek cracked open the bottle. When he handed it to Stiles, the younger man sipped from it without coaxing.

Derek was bursting with both concern and curiosity. “Chris, can you fill me in here?”

Stiles nodded his consent and Chris sank tiredly down on the leather couch Stiles had just occupied. The older man kept his mirrored sunglasses on but Derek had become used to the accessory.

Chris cleared his throat. “We stopped at Trader Joe’s and as we were leaving, we ran into this Duke guy. He was a little too handsy and said something to Stiles that upset him.”

Something was left out of Chris’s narrative but the older man’s attention was directed at Stiles. Despite Chris’s eyes being hidden from view, Derek could read the concern etched in the deep lines on each side of the man’s mouth.

Stiles clambered to his feet, setting the bottle on a nearby coffee table. “We forgot the chicken in the car. I should go get that before it spoils,” the younger man announced. He was rubbing his hands up and down the opposite arms, as though trying to keep warm, face devoid of expression.

“You sit down and relax and I’ll go get your organic, boneless, skinless chicken breasts, okay?” Chris responded. When the man stood up, he carefully put his hands on Stiles’s biceps and guided him down on to the couch.

Without waiting for a reply, Chris made his way to the door, locking it behind him. The bodyguard had a key to the apartment so Derek didn’t pay much attention to his departure, instead focusing all of his attention on his subdued boyfriend. Derek slowly climbed to his feet, perching on the couch next to Stiles.

Stiles didn’t elaborate about Duke so Derek didn’t push him. When a shiver shook Stiles’s slim frame, Derek offered, “What do you say I run you a bath before dinner?”

For the first time since Stiles entered the apartment, he looked engaged in the conversation. “Do we still have that brown sugar vanilla bubble bath?”

“Yes, but you know you can’t eat it, right?” Derek gently teased.

A shy smile graced Stiles’s face. “Spoil sport,” he teased back. “I think I’ll go run the bath. When I get out I’ll help you with the chicken, okay?”

Derek stood up slowly, holding his hand out to assist Stiles to his feet. His boyfriend took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. Stiles surprised Derek by brushing his lips against Derek’s cheek. Without a word, the younger man disappeared down the hallway. 

Derek finally relaxed when he read the water running and imagine the tub filling with the excessive amount of Deep Steep bubble bath he knew Stiles used.

The front door opened and Chris reentered the apartment, a bag hanging from a tightly clenched hand. “Is Stiles okay?” Chris asked.

“I think he’s doing a little better. He’s going to take a bath and then we’ll make dinner. What happened with Duke?” Derek finally pressed for answers.

Chris beckoned Derek to follow him as he walked into the kitchen, depositing the bag with the chicken in the refrigerator. Once that task was done, Chris stepped over to the counter, took his sunglasses off and tucked them into a front pocket before he leaned back, casually crossing his arms. “Duke,” Chris made a face as he said the man’s name, “called Stiles _Steel_ and put his hand on Stiles’s face. He said something like _my dear boy, how are you_ and Stiles pretty much froze in his tracks. His face shutdown and for a moment I thought he was going to faint. I hustled him back to the car and brought him right home. So who is this prick? I want to run a background check on him.”

Derek nodded his head in agreement. “Duke is Deucalion Wolf, he’s the owner of a club called Sinister.” Chris’s eyebrows winged upward letting Derek know the other man was familiar with the club. “Jeff arranged for me and Stiles to take a tour of the club as research for that YouTube video he was shooting. I thought Wolf was a little bit too interested in Stiles but I didn’t think we’d ever see the guy again.”

“I’m going to call that in to Gerard, see what he can dig up. The guy was a little too smooth for my taste but I wouldn’t think anything of it except for the way Stiles reacted to him. Wolf has blue eyes so maybe that’s what spooked Stiles but I want to have him checked out,” Chris announced as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

-0-

Saturday rolled around quickly, which meant visiting Peter. Again. 

This time Peter showed them to the overly ornate dining room. The table was massive and easily could’ve seated twelve people. There was a mahogany chair upholstered with red velvet in the corner and for the life of him, Derek couldn’t imagine what a chair of that size was doing tucked away in the corner of the dining room. The chandelier was a bit of a monstrosity with shimmering crystals combined with iron complete with detailed scrollwork. Derek supposed some people would appreciate the sparkle and glitz but to him it looked like his uncle was trying too hard to impress.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. I know it’s a bit early in the day for dessert but if you would allow me, I would like to serve you some crème brûlée with coffee. I’ve been working with the dessert butane torch and I’m interested to know what you think of my progress,” Peter pulled out a chair and indicated Stiles should take the seat. With a quizzical glance at Derek, Stiles complied.

Derek seated himself across from Stiles. When his uncle left the room, Derek leaned over and quietly said, “I think my uncle has a crush on you.”

Stiles’s beautiful lips pouted in an ‘o’ before he scrunched his face up. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

That was a part of Stiles’s charm; he had no idea how attractive he was to people. Derek often thought Stiles still pictured himself as the awkward looking teen with a buzzed haircut and too long limbs that refused to obey him instead of the gorgeous young man who sat before him today.

Shrugging, Derek finally answered Stiles’s question. “Not so much. Peter is usually stiff around other people, or too pompous. What you’re seeing is about as normal as my uncle gets these days.”

Stiles looked thoughtful but didn’t say anything as Peter reappeared, a tray bearing a coffee pot and ramekins brimming with caramelized custard. 

“Wow, Peter, I’m no aficionado but I have to say your crème brûlée smells wonderful,” Stiles enthused. 

Derek had to admit, the desserts not only smelled wonderful, they looked perfectly done. “These definitely look as good as the ones served at La Boheme,” Derek added. The West Hollywood American-Mediterranean eatery featured the tasty desserts and Derek never passed one up.

Peter gave Derek a brief smile but that smile became blinding as he turned it on Stiles. “Please, have a bite. Let me pour you some coffee, too,” Peter flitted around the table, setting out ramekins and splashing aromatic coffee into the tiny coffee cups.

“Oh, dear. I forgot the cream and sugar. Derek, would you please be a dear and get those from the kitchen? I left them out on the counter but forgot to put them on the serving tray,” Peter asked with a slight edge to this tone.

Neither Derek nor Stiles took cream or sugar and unless his uncle had changed his habits, neither did he. Derek recognized the sharp quality in his uncle’s voice and knew if he didn’t do as asked, Peter would be headed for a meltdown.

Derek excused himself as he stood up. “Of course, I’ll be right back.”

Moving down the hallway toward the kitchen, Derek could hear the two men murmuring but he couldn’t make out any words. He quickly located the cream and sugar, both in the too delicate and miniscule china that matched the coffee cups.

As he entered the dining room Derek realized it was quiet. Glancing up he observed Peter on his knees next to Stiles’s chair, chafing his boyfriend’s wrists as though Stiles was some Victorian heroine on the verge of a faint.

The creamer and sugar bowls were set down with a thunk as Derek moved quickly to Stiles’s side. Stiles hadn’t fainted, he was still sitting upright, but his eyes were unfocussed and he stared in the distance, unblinking.

“What happened?” Derek softly queried his uncle.

“I asked the dear boy how he liked the dessert and he practically went catatonic,” Peter reported. The man seemed genuinely distressed that his guest was in failing health. 

Derek stared at Peter’s hands, which were holding Stiles’s wrists, and raised an eyebrow. “Stiles doesn’t like to be touched without his consent.”

Too worried about Stiles’s condition, Derek ignored the brewing tantrum his words might cause. When silence greeted his announcement, Derek moved his attention from Stiles’s pale features back to his uncle.

Peter set Stiles’s hands down in the young man’s lap and slowly backed away. “Of course, you’re right.”

Derek seized the opportunity and kneeled down in the space Peter had just vacated. “Stiles, can you hear me?”

Stiles frowned before slowly blinking. “Derek? What happened?” The younger man sounded bewildered.

“It’s okay, Stiles. You just took a moment for yourself,” Derek assured him. He didn’t want to explain in front of his uncle that Stiles had suffered some sort of panic episode if he could avoid it. Derek was definitely growing uncomfortable with the level of attention his uncle was paying his boyfriend although he hadn’t really done anything wrong.

Biting his lip, Stiles made eye contact with Derek. “I don’t feel very good. Do you think we could go?” Stiles’s tone was hesitant and he focused his eyes downward, radiating unease.

“Yeah, of course. Can I help you up?” Derek rose to his feet and held out his hand. Stiles took it and allowed Derek to pull him to his feet.

Derek waited until Stiles was steady before he maneuvered them toward the hallway leading to the front door, Derek’s arm a steadying presence at the younger man’s lower back. “I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule, Peter.”

“Think nothing of it, nephew. Just take care of the young man,” his uncle said as he hovered behind Derek. 

Stiles was mobile but he was too pliant, allowing Derek to guide him out to the Cruiser and deliver him to the passenger seat without saying anything or acknowledging what was going on.

Once Derek was in the driver’s seat, he took another hard look at Stiles. Color was slowly seeping into his cheeks but the thousand-yard stare was back.

When Derek turned the ignition, Stiles failed to buckle his seatbelt so Derek leaned over, drawing the safety device over him until he hitched the buckle in the latch.

“How about we go home, steep some of that tea you like. What’s it called?” Derek prompted, hoping to engage Stiles in conversation.

“The chamomile tea?” Stiles easily answered.

“Right, chamomile tea. Let’s go home, brew some tea and find something to watch. Does that sound okay?” Derek continued in the same vein. He just wanted to keep Stiles in the here and now, and head off any anxiety attacks if possible.

“You know, there are some movies I think we’d both enjoy. I’ve got them saved on Netflix and Amazon Prime. What are you in the mood to watch?” Stiles asked.

“I could go for a comedy,” Derek responded. 

After the last hour, a comedy—and laughing with Stiles—sounded like the best medicine. For both of them.

-0-

Derek exited the elevator at the top floor but this time he was met by Chris instead of Stiles.

“Where is Stiles?” Derek barked, his lungs heaving as though on the verge of hyperventilating. He’d just put the groceries away when Chris had called him, telling him there’d been a development in the case and asking Derek to join them at Argent International.

“He’s in the conference room with Gerard. Deucalion Wolf has been arrested for the assault of Stiles. The detectives found proof that he had hired Garrett and Violet,” Chris disclosed.

Although Derek had thought the club owner had shown in inordinate amount of interest in Stiles, Derek hadn’t picked up any hostile vibes from the man. Derek had always fancied himself a good judge of character but maybe when someone was so absolutely evil, it was difficult to pick up on.

Both men moved down the corridor to the conference room they’d met in initially when Stiles was contemplating hiring Argent International. Chris pulled his mirrored sunglasses out and perched them on the bridge of his nose as they entered the room.

“What the hell?” Chris shouted, darting forward.

Stiles was backed, literally, into one corner of the room, Gerard penning him in. “It’s okay, son. I’m just trying to show Stiles here why he still needs our assistance,” the older man reasoned.

Derek bared his teeth and growled. Chris and Derek both reached Gerard at the same time, each grabbing an arm, hauling him backward.

Relying on Chris to keep his father at bay, Derek slowly approached his boyfriend. “Stiles, I’m here now. No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Turning to the side, Stiles slid down the wall, covering his head with one bent arm, the other hugging him tightly around the middle.

“Stiles?” Derek cajoled. 

Each inhalation and exhalation sounded tortured, Stiles’s lungs wheezing between hiccupping breaths.

Derek glared at the older man who looked unrepentant. Chris looked like he wanted to deck his father; this was something Derek whole-heartedly agreed with at the moment.

Chris pulled Gerard out of the room, his whispered words too soft for Derek to hear but the fury in the tone was unmistakable. 

Kneeling down next to Stiles, but leaving plenty of room between them, Derek tried again. “It’s okay, Stiles. Gerard and Chris are gone.”

With spasms shaking Stiles’s body, Derek expected to see evidence of tears on Stiles’s face but when his boyfriend turned toward him, his face was dry. His pupils dominated his eyes, the black almost obliterating the light brown. Stiles’s fight-or-flight response seemed to have abandoned him instead leaving Stiles an almost boneless puddle on the ground. 

Derek held out his hand, silently inviting Stiles to grab ahold of it. Stiles ignored the gesture, instead pushing himself upward until he stood on shaky feet. 

“I want,” Stiles began but abruptly stopped as he cupped a hand over his mouth. Derek recognized the impending signs of vomit and spotted a wastebasket, retrieving it quickly so he could hold it out to Stiles.

The traumatized man bent over, clutching the metal container, emptying his stomach noisily. Derek sympathized with Stiles, wanting to rub calming circles on his back, do something, but he kept his distance as Stiles hadn’t given him any indication he wanted to be touched.

The conference door swished open and Derek glanced over to find Chris standing there, nose wrinkled. “There’s a bathroom right next door.” 

“Stiles, there’s a bathroom right next door. Do you want to stop there and then we’ll go home?” Derek suggested in a soft, soothing voice.

The younger man straightened, nodding. Stiles allowed Derek to steer him out of the conference room to the bathroom with a hand on his low back. Derek kept his touch light but steady.

Stiles disappeared into the bathroom and Derek took up residence right outside, leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. Chris had followed them out but had kept a respectful distance. 

The other man cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot. The restlessness was very uncharacteristic of the bodyguard.

Derek looked over to acknowledge him. “What is it?”

“I want to apologize for my father. It’s no excuse but we got some disturbing news today and it’s made us a little off-kilter,” Chris explained.

Derek could hear the flush of the toilet and then water running from within the bathroom. He wanted to check on Stiles but he was going to give the man some space.

Switching his attention back toward Chris, Derek growled his frustration, “You’re right, there’s no excuse. Your father just traumatized Stiles. He’s definitely lost my trust and I can’t imagine Stiles will ever trust him again after that little stunt.” 

Both men looked up as Stiles, pale and subdued, opened the door and slowly emerged from the bathroom. “I heard what you said. What happened?” Stiles asked. His voice was hoarse but he was at least stead on his feet.

“Kate died of an apparent suicide. She was getting better, was due to be released soon, so none of us saw it coming. My father is taking it particularly hard,” Chris divulged. “It’s still doesn’t excuse what he did to you though. I’m very sorry, Stiles.”

“Grief makes us do strange things some times. I don’t think I can be around Gerard anymore though,” Stiles said. He reached out and squeezed Chris’s biceps. “I’m very sorry about your sister.”

Chris’s expression was shuttered behind the mirrored sunglasses but Derek saw him dash the back of his hand across first one cheek and then the other; the bodyguard was grieving and Derek felt like an ass.

“I’m sorry, too, Chris. Kate was always such a firecracker when I knew her, had such a big personality,” Derek added his own condolences.

The other man composed himself, his lips turning up into a shy smile. “Yeah, she really was those things. We’ll miss her but we’ll get through it.” He turned his attention to Stiles. “I’m encouraged that they’ve arrested Duke but until we have more proof, I’d feel better if you still had some personal protection. Can I recommend someone else?”

“Actually Chris, I’d rather still work with you if you feel up to it. I understand if you need to take some time off but I trust you,” Stiles explained.

The shy smile on Chris’s face blossomed to a bigger, more natural smile. “Thank you, Stiles. We’re going to arrange some services for family only and I’ll let you know when that is but otherwise I should be available.”

“Cool,” Stiles answered, a small smile lighting up his features.

Derek wanted to get Stiles home so he could relax. “Is it okay if I take Stiles home now?”

“Yeah, sure. Just call me if your plans change otherwise I’ll be over in the morning to get some coffee and take Stiles to work,” Chris confirmed.

The three men had taken to inhaling their first cup of java in the morning together in the apartment’s kitchen when Chris arrived to take Stiles to work. It was a relaxing way to start the day, filled with camaraderie and peace, and Derek was relieved they would carry on in the same tradition.

“Thanks, Chris,” Stiles said before he surprised the man by pulling him into a hug. 

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and tugged him toward the elevator. Derek was able to squeeze Chris’s shoulder as they moved by him.

The normally stoic-faced man nodded back. “Take care. And call me if you need me.”

After the last hour, Derek prayed they could catch a drama free break.

-0-

“Derek, I think something is wrong with Jennifer. Could you please come over?” Peter requested.

“What do you mean, wrong?” Derek asked as he climbed back into his Cruiser. 

“She seemed to be hysterical, crying horribly, and then locked herself in her room. I think I can hear her moving around but I’m worried. It’s not like her to behave like this,” Peter explained. “I thought about calling 911 but what if it’s not really an emergency and she’s only upset?”

Derek couldn’t fault his uncle for his logic. He didn’t necessarily want to drive across the city but this was the first time Peter had asked for something other than his company and Derek didn’t want to let him down.

“I should be there in thirty minutes. If you think something is wrong, like she’s harming herself, don’t wait for me—call 911 right away,” Derek insisted.

“Thank you, nephew. I’ll see you soon,” Peter ended the call.

He didn’t even have to think twice, Derek automatically reached out for Stiles using the Bluetooth service in his car. “Call Stiles.”

Stiles picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Derek. Chris was about to drop me off at home. Where are you?” 

“Peter is having some sort of emergency at his place with his nurse. He asked me to come over,” Derek explained.

“Do you want me to meet you there?” Stiles offered right away.

Derek thought a moment. He was happy Peter had accepted Stiles but he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said his uncle had a crush on the younger man. Derek thought it was harmless but sometimes it made him uncomfortable. He still wasn’t sure what had triggered Stiles’s panic attack when they’d last visited with Peter and he was loath to put Stiles into an uncomfortable situation.

“Derek?” Stiles prompted when his offer was met with silence.

“Let me see what’s going on. I’ll call you once I figure it out,” Derek finally answered.

“Yeah, sure. Good luck,” Stiles said before ending the call. Derek couldn’t tell if he was upset or relieved Derek didn’t want him to go to Peter’s house.

Derek concentrated on navigating through the afternoon traffic. The trip took longer than he’d expected. As soon as he approached the door, Peter whipped it open. “Finally. Right this way.”

Following his uncle through the hallway and up the stairs, Derek was surprised to see the door to Jennifer’s room was open. “Is everything okay?”

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Peter answered abruptly. Whatever was going on, it was making his uncle edgy.

Derek lingered at the threshold to room, calling out, “Jennifer?”

“I’m afraid she can’t hear you, Derek,” Peter said.

Derek was completely confused. He stepped into the room and that’s when he saw her. Lying across the bed, a jagged line across her neck, her body and bedding soaked with carmine colored fluid.

Blood.

“What the hell!” Derek jolted into the room to get a closer look. “Peter, what happened?”

“Hell happened,” Peter responded.

Derek whipped his head back to stare at his uncle, his mouth open in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“The little Jezebel was trying to blackmail me but I put her in her place,” Peter ranted. 

Derek couldn’t make sense out of what he was hearing. Or seeing. He turned back to stare at the macabre scene in front of him. This was either performance art at its finest or Jennifer was dead.

“Peter, I think we need—”

Peter calmly cut in, “Not we, you. You need to be taught a lesson.”

A memory of Peter, his eyes devoid of emotion, much like the Great White Shark’s in Jaws, came to Derek. Before Derek could make the next logical step, something pressed over his nose and mouth.

Derek swung wildly, trying to connect, wanting desperately to take a gulp of air but knowing that was a bad idea.

His vision filled with darkness until he lost the room’s afternoon light.

-0-

Derek first became aware of the voice. It was his uncle and he was crooning to someone in the nicest, gentlest voice Derek had ever heard Peter use.

Stretching out his limbs, Derek realized he couldn’t move. The back of his head hurt, and his neck, as did assorted places across his back and legs. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, but he couldn’t.

“Shhh, that’s my good boy. I’ll take such wonderful care of you,” Peter soothed.

It all came back to Derek in that moment. Peter had killed Jennifer, lured Derek over and then drugged him. Derek’s eyes slatted open and he saw dark grains of mahogany, like the ornate dining room table. Derek flexed his muscles and felt tension around his chest, stomach and legs; he was tied down. He tried to moisten his lips but he found something—duct tape?—prevented him.

_Motherfucker_. Peter had tied him to the dining room table.

But if Derek was tied down to the table and Peter was across the room, who the hell was Peter talking to?

“It’s okay, Stiles. I’m just going to teach Derek a lesson and then I’ll be able to devote all of my time to you.”

_No!_

Derek’s eyelids lifted in a panic, his body straining against the rope.

Craning his neck, Derek was able to see Peter in the corner of the dining room, perched on the red velvet carved mahogany chair…with Stiles nestled in his lap.

Dizziness made it hard for Derek to concentrate but Stiles’s mouth was slack and his limbs were lax; Stiles was unconscious and at the mercy of Peter. Derek screamed for Stiles. Screamed out his frustration. The duct tape across his mouth stifled his efforts.

“Now, now, Derek. Let me make Stiles more comfortable and I’ll be with you in just a moment. You’ve always lacked patience, nephew,” Peter had the temerity to lecture.

Bucking against the restraints, Derek put all of his power into getting loose.

Peter stood up, Stiles cradled in his arms, and turned around, depositing the unconscious man back on to the ornate chair. It took some arranging but Peter finally had Stiles, slumped down, his neck bent awkwardly over one arm, his legs bent and dangled over the other arm, arms crossed over his chest. Peter procured rope from beneath the chair and went about tying first Stiles’s wrists, and then his ankles, together. With a lingering caress to the pink mouth with his index finger, Peter straightened.

“You know, Derek, it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t invited Kate Argent into our lives, she never would’ve become obsessed with you. She never would’ve set fire to the house. She never would’ve,” Peter bit off this last thought, his hands clenching into fists.

His uncle was monologuing, his dramatic soliloquy worthy of any villain’s on the big screen. 

Kate Argent, suffering from schizophrenia, had set fire to the Hales’ house, killing everyone inside except Peter. Peter who had somehow managed to track down Kate and kill her. Derek didn’t know what his nurse, Jennifer, had done to earn her fate but apparently Peter held Derek responsible for putting the Hales on Kate’s radar.

It had never occurred to Derek, who admittedly hadn’t coped well with the loss of his family, that Kate had caused all of that destruction. He’d enjoyed his time with her but when she’d disappeared after the fire, Derek had barely noticed; he was consumed by grief. 

“I’m not going to kill you, nephew of mine. Your penance will be to match my appearance. I have just the tool for it, too,” Peter explained.

Peter moved out of his line of sight and Derek checked on Stiles again. His chest slowly moved up and down rhythmically. Derek willed him to wake up so Derek knew he was okay but his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

“Now then, let’s begin,” Peter announced. Derek’s attention shifted back to his uncle who was reaching for Derek. He was bound too tightly to elude Peter who cradled Derek’s head tightly in his hands before crashing him backwards, the back of his skull making painful contact with the table.

Derek saw stars behind his closed lids. He knew this was bad, he needed to move, but for the moment he couldn’t do anything except gather himself.

Pain seared across his right cheek and Derek’s body jerked and strained. His eyelids lifted in time to see Peter’s prized dessert butane torch edging toward his right eye. He quickly slammed his eyes shut, squirming away.

A loud thump made Derek jump and the zip and sizzle of the butane torch cut off.

“Oh, no, my dear boy. I hope you haven’t hurt yourself,” Peter exclaimed. 

The back of Derek’s head throbbed more than his face but he could smell something burnt and he knew Peter had burned him; the fact his face wasn’t his most painful wound told Derek how serious the burn was but he was too focused on what Peter was doing to Stiles to worry too much.

Stiles had tumbled out of the chair and was on the floor, face down. He was making wheezing noises, sobbing breaths, which broke Derek’s heart. Peter apparently was also affected by his distress as he hustled over to him, carefully turning him over.

In a shocking move, Stiles threw himself against Peter’s chest, sobbing against him, seeking comfort. “It’s okay, dear boy, I’ll take care of you,” Peter was whispering into the soft hair of Stiles’s head, gathering him closer.

The younger man was rocking back and forth, making a high-pitched whine. It cut off dramatically as Stiles began to gasp for air. Derek could hear the labored breathing and realized Stiles was in the midst of a panic attack that rivaled the one he’d witnessed at his therapist’s office.

Peter withdrew a utility knife from his pocket and Derek tensed. His uncle sliced through the ropes binding Stiles’s hand together and that seemed to alleviate some of Stiles’s distress, as he pressed more closely into Peter’s side, his face nuzzled against the side of Peter’s neck.

His uncle stared down at Stiles, one hand rubbing up and down Stiles’s back comfortingly, the other still holding the utility knife. When Stiles’s arms wrapped around Peter’s neck, the older man reached down and sliced through the rope binding Stiles’s ankles together.

Derek wasn’t sure Stiles had even been aware he’d been tied up. Did he even know who was holding him? Derek was just grateful the younger man was breathing more easily although his mind refused to dwell on what Peter might do to him.

Peter pocketed the knife again before speaking softly in Stiles’s ear, “All right, dear boy, let’s get you settled somewhere safe.” Peter shifted his weight on to his knees and then straightened to his full height, his arms cradled around Stiles, pulling the younger man to his feet with him.

Stiles’s balance was off and he tilted precariously, his uncle stepping back to compensate for the shift in weight, his arms still surrounding the younger man.

In a move that surprised Derek as much as it did Peter, Stiles straightened and pivoted sharper, driving his knee into Peter’s vulnerable groin. 

His uncle collapsed to the floor with a groan, cupping his privates. Stiles reached into the downed man’s pocket and withdrew the utility knife.

“Oh, Derek, what did he do to you?” Stiles’s eyes shimmered with tears as he approached the table. 

His boyfriend sliced through the ropes binding Derek’s chest and then the ones around his middle. Derek hauled in a deep breath through his nose, some of the adrenaline leaving his body.

“Do you think you can walk if I help you up?” Stiles asked as he reached for the ropes tying down Derek’s legs.

Derek had just started working at the duct tape across his mouth when Peter lurched into view.

Stiles lifted his right knee to his chest, glancing over his shoulder. He slammed the heel of his foot straight into Peter’s stomach, the older man making an audible whoosh as the air exited his mouth. 

Peter only staggered back a few steps and then was charging at Stiles again.

Pressing the knife into Derek’s hand, Stiles spun until he faced Peter.

Stiles executed a left jab followed by a right hook but Peter barely slowed in his frenzy to get to the younger man.

Unleashing a roundhouse kick, Stiles moved away from the table. And Derek.

Derek squawked his dismay as he leaned up on his forearms, peeling the rest of the duct tape from his mouth. It took all of his concentration to bend over and cut through the last of his bindings. 

Rolling his weight to the side so he was sitting up, legs dangling off the table, proved too much for Derek’s equilibrium and the room faded to fuzzy shapes. His hearing kicked in and out as Derek fought to remain conscious. 

By the time the room stopped spinning, Derek realized Peter had his hands all over Stiles. Peter’s back was to the door leading out to the patio, his arms snaked around Stiles’s chest, pinning his arms down. Stiles’s back was to Peter’s front, facing Derek, his cheeks red from exertion.

“You put up a nice, token resistance, dear boy, but it’s time to give in,” Peter murmured, squeezing his arms more, pressing more closely to Stiles.

Derek slid off the table, intent on pummeling his uncle, but his world grayed out.

A ringing filled his ears but Derek finally could make out the sounds of a fight in the distance. 

“You asshole!” Stiles screamed. 

“What did you expect me to do? Derek brought that unstable girl into our lives and look what she did! He has to pay,” Peter declared.

“Are you even capable of logical reasoning? She set the house on fire, not Derek. Why would you want to hurt your own nephew? He loves you!” Stiles snapped back.

Derek was able to lever himself into a seated position but that’s as far as he got. He needed to help Stiles but he couldn’t seem to focus.

“That spoiled little brat never had to work for anything. He’s the reason my family is dead. He’s the reason I look like this,” Peter seemed to be pleading with Stiles. “Stiles, you’re mine. Surely you can see that. Derek is standing between you and me.”

“Stop it, Peter. There is no you and me. There never will be.” Stiles’s response was stone cold. Implacable. The jovial wise cracking young man who had been traumatized by events in the preceding months was gone. 

Pulling himself along the floor, Derek made it to the door leading to the patio. 

“If I can’t have you, nobody can,” Peter proclaimed. Derek would’ve rolled his eyes if he’d had the energy.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Peter accused. Apparently Stiles was thinking along the same lines.

A loud scuffle complete with swearing on Stiles’s part and grunting on his uncle’s, ended with a loud splash.

On hands and knees, Derek made it outside. He could hear thrashing in the pool but his vision was still blurred and he couldn’t see what was going on.

Someone rose smoothly out of the water, hands planted on the edge of the pool, feet smoothly swinging up on to solid ground. Stiles was a vision with his denim jeans and white V-neck t-shirt molded to his body, silky brown hair plastered to his head as he stood to his full height.

“Stiles, please, help me,” Peter called out. It was apparent by his thready voice that he was having difficulty staying afloat. Peter had never been a strong swimmer. The pool was primarily for show.

Derek’s vision spiraled dizzily to a tunnel of dark and his hearing filled with that annoying buzzing again. 

When he came back to himself, Peter was still calling for help one moment and the next there was a clatter and his uncle’s voice suddenly cut off.

The silence was as jarring as the intense fight between the two men had been.

“Stiles?” Derek called out as he wobbled to his knees.

His boyfriend was sprawled out on his back. Unmoving.

Derek pushed himself to his feet, staggering forward two steps before his legs folded. His head cracked against the pool surround tiles.

The ringing in his ears was back as was the darkness.

-0-

“Shit,” a voice snarled from next to Derek’s ear. Derek felt himself rolled on to this side. “What the fuck?” Whoever this was, they sure liked to cuss.

“Yeah, I have an emergency. I need ambulances sent to 4730 Laurelgrove Avenue in North Hollywood. There are two men in need of medical assistance,” the voice spoke tersely.

There was a pause before the voice spoke again. “I don’t know exactly. One has a burn on his face, one is bleeding profusely from a cut on his arm. They’re both unconscious.”

“My name is Chris Argent. I came to pick up my client and found this, whatever the hell happened. I need to see if I can stop the bleeding. The front door is unlocked, just come through to the back of the house to the pool,” Chris barked out instructions.

“Hang in there, Derek. Help is on the way,” Chris said as he squeezed Derek’s shoulder.

Derek realized he was in the classic recovery position, on his side with his chin tilted back. This pulled uncomfortably on the side of his right face but he couldn’t exactly call it pain. Derek knew this was a bad sign but he was too busy concentrating on what was going on next to the pool.

Something was tearing and Chris was muttering under his breath. God damn it, Stiles. Just hang on,” the tone was mainly exasperated but there was an undertone of fury. “I’m not going to lose you, too.”

His sense of time was skewed but Derek could hear the sirens getting closer. 

There was shouting and people running and then something was pinching Derek’s forearm. He wanted to open his eyes but he couldn’t find the energy.

He drifted in and out, but each time he surfaced, Derek called out for his boyfriend. No one ever answered.

Until, “It’s okay, Derek. You’re going to be okay and so is Stiles.”

Derek had to fight for it but eventually he raised his eyelids. Stiles’s father hovered over him. “Stiles is giving his nurse hell right now. I’m pretty sure he’ll be wheeled in here within the hour.”

“What happened to Stiles?” Derek remembered Stiles collapsing after he came out of the pool. Which remembered Derek, “Where’s Peter?” Peter had drugged them both. He’d burned Derek and fought with Stiles.

Stiles who was a badass motherfucker. Derek had to tell Kira the kickboxing classes had paid off in a big, big way if Derek’s memory could be relied upon.

“I’m sorry, son. Peter didn’t make it,” the sheriff replied grimly. “He had outdated wiring, something about not having a Ground-Fault Circuit Interrupter, and that piece of shit—Stiles’s description, not mine—CD player got knocked into the pool. Your uncle was electrocuted.”

“What about Stiles? I think Peter drugged him and then they fought. What did Peter do to him?” Derek demanded. He felt nothing about Peter’s death. Right now he could only focus on Stiles.

“According to Stiles, Peter barely laid a finger on him. Apparently my graceful son got a gash on his arm while pushing Peter outside and managed to hit his brachial artery. Some stitches and a blood transfusion later, and the staff have had enough of his shenanigans. I left him duking it out with the brother of Nurse Ratched,” the sheriff was smiling fondly. The panic percolating in Derek’s chest simmered down.

There was a commotion at the door and Stiles burst in, propelling the wheelchair with one hand, his left arm in a sling. “Derek! No one told me you were awake.” He shot an accusing glare at this father.

“Calm down, Stiles. He just now woke up,” The older man chastised his son. The sheriff maneuvered the wheelchair next to the bed, ruffled Stiles’s hair before he headed for the door. “I’ll let the nurse know Derek is awake. And Stiles? Stay off his bed. Let the man rest.”

Stiles scowled before nodding. His brown eyes became moist as he stared at Derek. “How do you feel? Is the pain okay?”

“I don’t really feel anything right now,” Derek confessed. “What exactly happened? I missed some of it.”

The scowl was back in full force and it, more than anything, told Derek that Stiles was going to be okay. 

The younger man cleared his throat. “I’ll give you the Sparknotes version. Apparently Kate Argent, suffering from undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenia, set the fire to your house all those years ago. Your batshit crazy uncle found out about it and killed her. His nurse figured that out and was blackmailing him so he killed her. Peter blamed you for everything and decided to try to make your face match his. By the way, he did a half-assed job and you’re still gorgeous. You do have a third degree burn that’s going to scar but it will only enhance your rakishly handsome good looks.” Stiles finally ran out of steam, slumping in the wheelchair.

His boyfriend’s skin was parchment gray, his hair, dark eyebrows and big brown eyes the only slashes of color against the pale backdrop.

Stiles looked shaky as hell and Derek certainly felt that way but something was bugging him. “Did Peter say he though you belonged to him? What the hell did he mean by that?”

Eyes downcast, Stiles gulped audibly. “Yeah, about that. I think Peter was the one who assaulted me.”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out of the corners of both eyes. Blue eyes…ridiculously rich…mentally unbalanced. His uncle definitely fit the profile of Stiles’s abductor. 

“What happened after he fell into the pool? I heard his calling for help and then I passed out. When I woke up, it was quiet and you were unconscious,” Derek reached out, clutching at Stiles’s hand. He needed the contact to ground him.

_Derek had almost lost Stiles._

Realistically Derek was aware this wasn’t his fault but it sure felt that way to him.

Stiles was uncharacteristically quiet; at least the Stiles of old would’ve blurted out the rest of the story.

This, the new Stiles, looked relieved, and somber, and it took him a moment before he could make eye contact.

Swallowing convulsively, as though trying to moisten a suddenly dry mouth, Stiles said in a near whisper, “I’m sorry about your uncle.”

Before Derek could hear any more details about what had transpired, a nurse was bustling into his room, Stiles’s father hot on her heels.

The blonde nurse expertly wheeled Stiles away from the side of the bed and began checking Derek’s vitals, asking about his pain level.

Derek struggled to find Stiles in the chaos of the room as another body, this one wearing a lab coat, entered the fray.

When the hospital staff finally left Derek in peace, only the sheriff remained.

“Is Stiles okay?” Derek questioned.

The older man sank into the chair next to the bed. “The police are here and wanted him to make a statement. He asked me to stay with you until he could return.”

Stiles’s dad seemed a bit forlorn. Of course as the Sheriff of Beacon County, he was used to interviewing witnesses so it was only natural he would want to be with Stiles. Derek felt equally marginalized as he tried to relax into the bed.

Derek could only wonder what had happened with Peter. He wished he could tell Stiles it was okay if he’d somehow hurt his uncle on purpose but he didn’t know how to say that without making it sounds like he was accusing his boyfriend of something.

The minutes ticked by slowly as both men waited for Stiles to return.

-0-

Detective Parrish knocked on the door an hour later. “Hi, Derek. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. It’s nice to see you awake,” the man said, hovering in the doorway.

Derek cleared his throat. “You can come in for a minute.”

The sheriff looked torn between staying in the room and checking on Stiles.

“Could you please check on Stiles for me? I’m worried about him,” Derek asked.

The older man looked relieved. “Sure thing. I’ll be right back,” he delivered the last sentence like a stern lecture, staring at the detective with a warning.

Parrish put his hands up. “I’m not here to interview him or anything. I just wanted to stop and say hi.”

“It’s okay, sir,” Derek added quietly.

The sheriff rolled his eyes in exactly the same manner as Stiles. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me sir?”

“Okay. Sir.” Derek’s lips turned into a smile and the skin on the right side of his face pulled uncomfortably.

Both men chuckled though, relieving the tension.

With a nod, Stiles’s dad left the room.

“Honestly, Derek, I’m not here to ask you what happened. I sat in on the interview with Stiles but before I left, I wanted to see how you’re doing. Is there anything I can get you?” Parrish asked. 

Derek realized it was Jordan, his friend, not Parrish, the detective who had responded to the call to a missing person’s case all the months ago, visiting him. The man was clearly letting him know he was off the clock and this was a social visit.

“I’m still a bit loopy from all of the pain meds but I don’t think there’s anything I need. I appreciate the offer, though,” Derek said, shifting on the bed, trying to get comfortable. He had an assortment of bruises from his altercation with Peter along with a concussion. 

Jordan looked down at the floor before making eye contact. “I’m very sorry about your uncle. He was obviously a very sick man but I know he was the last surviving member of your family.” 

Sighing, Derek shook his head. “Actually, I consider Stiles my family. I’ll miss the uncle I knew when I was a kid but I don’t think I could’ve forgiven him for what he did to Stiles.”

The other man blew out a breath. “I wasn’t sure you knew. I’m not supposed to comment on an ongoing investigation but we were already pursuing him as a lead. Deucalion admitted to knowing Peter, having spent time with him recently, and we’re pretty sure your uncle set him up to take the fall. Please don’t repeat that to anyone other than Stiles.”

That…actually explained quite a bit. Peter had always been scary smart, and manipulative, but Derek had let his uncle’s injuries blind him to what he was capable of doing.

Derek still wasn’t sure if Peter had fixated on Stiles because of Derek’s relationship with him or if he’d been attracted to something about the younger man from the start. Either way, Derek felt responsible for drawing Peter’s attention to Stiles and that was something he couldn’t quite forgive himself for right now.

Shifting again, comfort eluding him, Derek promised, “I won’t tell anyone except Stiles and I know he won’t say anything.”

“I’d better get going so you can get some rest. Or do you want me to wait for the sheriff to return?” Jordan asked.

Stiles’s dad, pushing Stiles in the wheelchair, interrupted the conversation. “No need. I’m here although I’m going to give these two some privacy.” Squeezing Stiles’s shoulder he bent down and softly announced, “I’ll be back for you in exactly thirty minutes. You need your rest, too.” Straightening up, he moved for the door, escorting Jordan out.

“Bye, guys. I’ll check on you later,” Jordan called over his shoulder as he was hustled away.

Derek stared at his boyfriend. The pallor had deepened and lines of exhaustion now seemed etched around his mouth. 

Uncomfortable with the silence, Derek nodded toward the door. “Your dad’s not exactly subtle. What did you want to talk about?”

Stiles maneuvered the wheelchair, one-handed, to his spot next to the bed. He grabbed Derek’s hand, holding it to his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Derek. About Peter.”

“I’m not sorry. I could never forgive him for what he did to you. If he was still alive, I wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”

“You don’t understand, I…” Stiles paused, collecting himself. He put Derek’s hand on the bed but continued to cling to it. “I don’t know what happened to Peter. I remember we were fighting and we ended up in the pool. I pulled myself out and I saw the table with the piece of shit CD player and I just, I don’t know, lost it.” He stared into Derek’s face, tears pooling in his eyes along with despair. “What if I killed him? What if I threw something electronic into the pool and tried to kill him on purpose?”

Watching Stiles fall apart, quietly, made Derek’s heart hurt. “Come here,” he said, holding his hand out in invitation.

Stiles flinched away, as though he thought Derek was going to hit him. It hurt. Derek wasn’t capable of hurting Stiles and he couldn’t believe Stiles didn’t know that. But Stiles was confused and hurting. 

Derek dug deep for some patience. “Stiles, please, whatever happened I don’t blame you. But if I can’t hold you right now, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. Would you please get in the bed with me?”

It was painful watching Stiles push himself to his feet and sink on to the surface of the bed gingerly. Derek scooted over to this right, making sure that side of his face was hidden from view, while Stiles slowly nudged his way against Derek’s side. It took some doing but Derek was able to thread his left arm around Stiles’s shoulders. The younger man cradled his injured left arm against his own chest but nestled his head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek wanted to haul Stiles’s closer but cognizant of both their injuries, he settled for nuzzling the silky strands of brown hair resting against his shoulder.

Derek’s shoulder became wet and that, plus the little tremors shaking Stiles’s body, told him the other man was crying. Sliding his hand down until it rested on the curve of Stiles’s waist, Derek soothed him with his touch the best he could.

Voices outside their room startled Stiles but Derek was able to shush him quietly.

The sheriff was asking the nurse to wait a little longer before entering the room and Derek was grateful. He never quite knew how Stiles’s father felt about him but at the very least, he didn’t seem to begrudge the two men some time to lick their wounds.

“I love you, Derek. Please don’t leave me,” Stiles choked out.

Wishing he could see Stiles’s face but resigned to having this conversation without being able to read the emotions crossing his boyfriend’s face, Derek responded. “Why on earth would I leave you? I love you, too, you know.”

“Because of what I did,” Stiles burrowed more closely, slicking Derek’s skin with his tears.

“I don’t care what you did, or didn’t do. I’m more worried that you might not want to be tied to someone who got you into this mess, someone who might end up with scars marring their face. Stiles, what if you don’t love me once the bandages come off?” Derek finally voiced the concern bugging him more than the discomforts of his bruises or headache. 

Stiles stiffened against him, and not in a good way. “You didn’t kidnap me, or rape me. That’s not on you. And do you really think I’m that shallow? I could care less what you look like. I mean sure, you’ve got the most handsome mug I’ve ever seen, and the body of a Greek God, but it’s your soul I’m love with, Derek. The rest is nice but it’s not what makes you, well, you.”

The tension Derek had been holding tight in his body dissipated. Stiles was incensed but instead of being fearful of having that ire directed at him, it brought Derek peace.

Opening his mouth, apparently building toward a tirade, Stiles sallied forth, “Anyway, if I’d been HIV positive are you telling me you would’ve broken up with me?”

Derek squawked, “What? No! Of course not.” 

“Then I rest my case,” Stiles added.

Stiles was an actor but Derek didn’t think he could fake this kind of aggrieved response, especially when his defenses were down from the attack, the ensuing fight, his injury and exhaustion.

Thinking of the attack, Derek couldn’t help but mention Stiles and his moves. “Hey, I think we need to thank Kira for introducing you to kickboxing. You are one serious badass motherfucker, Stiles Stilinski. You’re my hero.”

Stiles relaxed against his side, snorting. “I wasn’t sure you were able to catch any of my mad skills. He just made me so angry, and frustrated, when he was hurting you and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Yeah, I know. I felt the same way.” Only Derek was thinking of what he’d seen at that seedy motel, with Stiles insensate with drugs, and tied up against his will. Or the damned video of Stiles being violated.

The man in his arms patted Derek lightly on his chest; Derek didn’t know if that’s because he was bruised and hurting or if it was because Stiles was using his bandaged limb. “Let’s make a pact. When one of us is feeling guilty, we have to tell the other one so we can talk about it and get it in the open. I don’t want to screw this relationship up. We’ve got a good thing going here, Mr. Hale.”

“If you consider being drugged and attacked by a crazed man as a good thing, then I’d say we need to raise the bar a little bit higher but I’m game. I’ll tell you if I’m feeling guilty about things. I don’t want to blow this either, Mr. Stilinski,” Derek agreed.

“Okay, good. I’m glad we got that sorted out. Now I’m going to pass out for a little while so please don’t be alarmed,” Stiles sighed with exhaustion, before his weight rested more heavily against Derek.

Derek was alarmed but he could feel Stiles’s heartbeat and inhalations were steady. When the man tucked under his arm snorted, a breath rattling through congested nostrils, Derek grinned. Stiles was most likely asleep and who could blame him after all of the excitement, and blood loss, he’d endured today.

Besides, Stiles’s father had said they’d have thirty minutes and although his tracking of the passage of time was a little off due to the concussion and everything else, Derek figured someone would be coming to check on them soon.

Their talk had been emotional but Derek definitely felt better after they’d both had their say. 

No one would be trying to kidnap Stiles or burn Derek.

A measure of peace filled him for the first time since Scott and Allison’s wedding and as sleep tugged at him, Derek gave in to the urge.

-0-

Derek and Stiles sat side by side on the leather couch in the office that doubled as their scene room. It had been two months since the pool incident, as Derek had taken to thinking of it, and he was physically recovered enough to contemplate working again.

“Maybe I should consider changing careers. I mean, who would want to hire me looking like this?” Derek asked, pointing to his face.

The burn had faded from the angry red it had been after the bandage had come off but they were still livid against Derek’s olive complexion. 

“Derek,” Stiles said, tapping Derek on the tip of his nose with his index finger, “You were handsome before but now you have something extra. I’m not sure how to describe it but I guess I’d say you look dangerous. Badass. I think this is going to open you up to more roles, like the character roles you’ve been attracted to but had been told you’re not right for because of your leading role looks.”

Derek opened his mouth to argue but Stiles leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to the scar. “I would never have wished this pain on you but you survived it. You’re stronger because of it. This,” soft lips brushed across the damaged skin, “is just proof of how strong you are, Derek.” 

The little bit of doubt that had been lodged in Derek’s chest evaporated. “Badass, huh.”

“Definitely badass. The kind of badass that likes to dominate his lover,” Stiles purred.

Derek’s worries melted away.

Before Stiles could say anything more, Derek had pulled him to his feet, pulled down his khaki pants and boxer briefs, and pulled him back over his knees, face down. Stiles’s upper body was supported by the couch but his long legs dangled down, knees bent, ass positioned enticingly over Derek’s lap.

“What color are you?” Derek asked.

“Green. So very green,” Stiles sighed out.

Derek warmed the palette before him, his hand slapping lightly from the backs of Stiles’s lower thighs, up over the sweet spot where the butt and upper thigh met and then over the full cheeks.

When the pale skin had pinked up nicely, Derek fondled Stiles’s taint, lightly tapping at it with an index finger before massaging it.

When Stiles began to wriggle, and hump, Derek stripped the pants and briefs from his body before reaching for the basket on the side table, pulling out some equipment.

Pumping some water based lube into his palm, Derek made sure to coat the Aneros Vice well. The toy was a bit rigid to the touch but it had a hidden vibrator with three settings and supposedly delivered teeth-chattering orgasms. Derek planned to put it to the test.

Derek pushed a lubed finger against the ring of muscle splayed between the butt cheeks. Stiles’s body relaxed, content to let Derek loosen him up.

When Stiles was a heavy, sighing weight draped across his lap, Derek withdrew his fingers and pushed the Vice into Stiles’s channel.

Stiles tensed up, flexing his muscles at the intrusion. “Color?”

His love made an effort to relax. “Green. It was just a surprise.”

Derek pushed Stiles’s t-shirt up, revealing a tantalizing strip of pale skin. He rubbed circles on it, soothing the man in his lap. “Relax, Stiles. Use your safeword if you need me to pause or stop.”

Twisting the Vice slowly, Derek waited for the tension to ease out of Stiles’s body. Once that happened, Derek activated the vibration mode.

“Oh,” Stiles exclaimed softly. He alternately tensed and relaxed as the Vice stimulated his body.

The toy was meant to be hands free so once Derek had it inserted all of the way into Stiles’s body, he removed his hand from it.

Stiles gave a little kick with first one foot than the other but then quickly subsided.

Derek left Stiles’s hard cock alone, instead returning his hand to the soft, silky skin of his buttocks, applying it first softly and then with more force. He was careful not to touch the toy but he couldn’t help but notice the intake of breath Stiles made each time his hand made contact. 

“Derek,” Stiles wailed. “I’m gonna…mmm.” The wailing devolved to wordless moans and sighs.

The Aneros prostate massager’s claim to fame was a non-ejaculatory hands free super orgasm to end all orgasms. Derek could see Stiles contracting his rectum around the handle of the toy, hear his panting breaths picking up speed and feel the muscles is his abdomen twitching.

The tremors started in Stiles’s feet, the tendons flexing and quivering. The quivers moved upward, through Stiles’s shapely calves, before his thigh muscles tensed and relaxed. With a convulsive heave, his upper body jerked from the couch’s surface until his head hung down, his hands coming to rest atop the floor. All of the tension fled Stiles’s body, leaving him limp and heaving.

The next time Derek vowed to use the prostate massager in bed so he could see Stiles’s face as he came. He was too turned on right now to dwell on it. 

It wasn’t very gentlemanly of him but he eased Stiles off of his lap, manhandling him next to him on the couch. Derek shimmied out of his own clothing before stripping Stiles of his shirt.

“Stiles, I need to know your color,” Derek prompted gently.

His request was met with a groan but when Derek poked him in the ribs, Stiles slurred out, “Green.”

Clutching up the lube, Derek coated himself with it, his hands shaking.

Derek sank onto the leather couch before wrestling Stiles into a sitting position. It took some tugging and cajoling but soon Derek was guiding Stiles on to his lap again, this time so Derek’s cock was easing into his lover’s well-used hole.

Derek could tell Stiles was on the verge of being over sensitive so he left him alone, wrapping his hands around the slim waist to jolt him up and down.

Semen erupted out of Derek an embarrassingly short time later. He relaxed back against the cushions, content to hug Stiles to him, the lax man’s back pressed against Derek’s chest, their bodies still joined.

Nuzzling into the sensitive skin behind Stiles’s ear, Derek whispered, “You still with me?”

Stiles shivered. “Ummm. That was the best sex ever.” 

“You say that every time we make love,” Derek teased.

“Uh huh,” Stiles yawned.

Derek needed to get them upstairs and into bed if they wanted to get some quality sleep. He’d worry about cleaning up down here later.

Stiles groaned when Derek lifted him off of him, mumbling about the mess leaking out of him, but Derek shushed him. 

It was hard to believe everything that had happened in the last year. There was so much he would take back if he could, but this, having Stiles plastered against him, loving him, was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Hugging Stiles close until his ribs groaned in protest, Derek’s mouth stretched into a wide grin.

This was Derek’s life now. He no longer felt like he was drowning in his past. He couldn’t wait to see how his future with Stiles played out.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This fills my h/c prompt for Forced Body Modification. I thought this was going to be a difficult prompt to work on but it practically wrote itself. I've now written about 48,000 words since I received my Round 7 of Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card in the middle of June...I'd better get a move on, and write shorter fics, if I'm going to achieve bingo black out by the first of the year.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading my story. I think anyone who writes will tell you they write for themselves first but it sure is satisfying if others enjoy the fruits of your labor, or at least sample them. Cheers!


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